


A Proper Story

by ChibiHunter



Category: Bastion
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiHunter/pseuds/ChibiHunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a retelling of the Bastion from start to finish, wish me luck with getting this right!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Story

_Proper story's supposed to start at the beginning... Ain't so simple with this one._

_Now here's a Kid whose world got all twisted...leaving him stranded on a rock in the sky._

The Kid in question groaned as he opened his brown eyes, narrowing them slightly before sitting up, glancing around the soft breeze ruffling his pure white hair.. He was resting on his knapsack, that much he could remember... but for now, the headache he was feeling discouraged any other memory expeditions. Getting to his feet, he was stunned to say the least to find that he was on a floating island of rock...rubble would be the better word for it. What had happened? Had something terrible happened to his home...? His mind raced to find answers, and he tentatively took a step forward, anxious to get answers for his growing list of questions. He had to find others, whether they be as dark-skinned as him or pale, anyone would do.

To his surprise, other pieces of land seemed to form under his feet, a pathway stretching out before him as he looked around. No other land was coming into view save for what was forming under his feet... no choice but to go forward, and see what had happened. For now, his mind whispered, get to the Bastion. The Bastion was an evacuation center for all... he remembered hearing nearly four announcements a day that if something were to happen, immediately head there. The burning question on his mind though was if it was even there... and would this strange pathway lead him to it? Only one way to find out, and that was to forge ahead. No sense staying there all day, no real food or water to speak of.

Setting the pace, he stared around as the ground formed underneath his feet. Nothing else was really coming into view... what could have done such a thing? He filed the thought away for another time, instead focusing on reaching the Bastion before something else could happen. A large doorway appeared nearby, the metal door finely crafted into a revered god, the Bull, Pyth. The sudden appearance had startled him, but then again, the ground forming into pathways in front of him was also startling but he tolerated it. It was inaccessible though, so it was just better to move on, his fears lessening slightly when he spotted something that he had missed dearly, his hammer. One could call it his lifelong friend, the hammer had never done wrong by him, and joined him on every little thing he did. The Masons used this hammer to build... and to break.

Grasping the handle tightly, he smiled faintly, eying the rubble blocking the way forward. Well, if anything, his Cael Hammer was a great conversationalist when it came to communication with obstacles. It would do the talking, and the obstacle would do the moving. Swinging fiercely, he heard the satisfying smash of rocks and wood, taking delight in knowing that at the very least now, he could defend himself. Hammer still held tightly, he continued up the trail, removing anything that couldn't be maneuvered around. His attention was grabbed by the sound of movement nearby, his hands reflexively curling around the handle of his beloved hammer, ready to set it down if it was a survivor, ready to fight if it wasn't.

The cold blue eyes against dark skin and ragged hood covering its face guaranteed that his guest was no survivor... but a Gasfella, forced out from the mining tunnels. The giant pickaxe it wielded looked as sharp as ever, and the rubble it was smashing out of its way to meet him suggested that he was next on the list. Biting his lip, he dodged out of the way, rolling along the ground with practiced ease as the pickaxe swung above where his head had been, the smashed wall next to it an indication that this Gasfella was in no mood to play nice.

Grinding his teeth, he dashed underneath it's swinging arm again, twisting and using the momentum to hit the creature's head with his hammer. As expected of his swing, it landed on it's target, the Kid beaming slightly before having to duck out of the way as it swung again. He had forgotten that the Gasfellas are bit more hardy than most monsters, and cursed his luck that he only had one weapon to defend himself, the area swiftly getting torn up from close calls and sheer misses. By the time the Gasfella finally toppled to the ground, he was breathing heavily, his grip on the hammer so tight he was afraid that his hands would start bleeding. While he bore no cuts from the attack, he was sporting several new bruises from having to duck and dodge everywhere, some stinging in protest. Brushing himself off, he kept the hammer at the ready, moving on while still clearing the path of rubble.

Sometime later, he was surprised to see a Fang Repeater laying there on the ground amidst some rubble. The bolt-type weapon had been a favorite of the Trappers... a group of people who aimed fast and moved lightly. Sliding the Hammer onto his back, he was examining the weapon slowly when he spotted some wooden crates. It was often said that the repeater weapons were hard to manage because of the reload time and damage output, but beggars were in no position to be choosers right now. He needed a long range weapon, it would have been very handy against the Gasfella from earlier instead of running around like a deranged animal, looking for an opening. He took a few practice shots, his nose wrinkling from how long it took to wreck some of the crates. Wasn't much, but with a little work, it would be amazing.

Gearing up again with Fang Repeater in tow, he continued on the trail laid out for him. " Keep going Kid, it's just a little further." a deep voice urged him, the Kid jumping defensively, swinging on instinct. When no body materialized, he relaxed marginally, casting a glance over his shoulder, looking at the city crest he carried on his back. It was the only thing on him that was a recent addition, many of those who wandered out of the city frequently like he did kept the crests on them for identification and communication. That or he had lost his mind from isolation. It made his heart swell with hope though, someone was talking to him, even if it was just a disembodied voice. Nodding despite the fact it was just a voice, he continued on with renewed resolve, determined to at least find whomever was encouraging him along.

" Take a break, Kid... you need it." the voice encouraged as a fountain came into view, the Kid stopping for a brief moment to stare at the cool water as if it had suddenly appeared into existence, grateful for the water. He took a moment to refill the small flasks at his hip, gulping down the water as if it was going to disappear if he didn't, exhaling with a content sigh before refilling that one as well. Before he could continue on though, the sound of digging put him on edge, his hands first reaching for the Fang Repeater, freezing at the sight of the environment. It was too crowded with remnants of the area, it'd be hard to pull off a clean shot with all the debris in the area. Smash and go was the better option, his hands moving away from the repeater and grasping his hammer, bringing it from it's resting place on his back as a school of Squirts tunneled up around him.

Normally, one never had much to fear of the smallest of the Windbag family, they were merely babies. However, in their panicked state, they were a danger to anyone they happened to chance upon, namely him. Thankfully though, it takes only a few swings to dispatch the tiny windbags, a soft apology on his lips. Self-defense before species preservation. Finishing with the small onslaught, he took a moment to relax, something sparkling nearby. Curious, he moved over to it, grasping a small crystal barrette in his callused fingers. He remembered where he had seen the item before... it belonged to one of the girls living in the city. He enjoyed her company, but could never bring himself to get closer, instead opting to watch from afar. Pocketing it, he returned to the fountain to rest for a moment, curling up by it, fingering the memento gently, sighing. He felt a bit worn down already from the trip, and the sheer isolation wasn't helping.

His mysterious friend hadn't said anything in the last few minutes, which made him wonder if he had imagined everything, getting to his feet again before looking at the Saloon in front of him. Amazingly, the place had survived whatever had happened to his world... Time to move forward.

_He sets foot inside one of Caelondia's famous watering holes. Inside's old Rondy, the Bartender... the Calamity got him before his drinking did._

Pushing open the wooden doors, he was greeted with the smell of fruit and dust, glancing around carefully. Practically nothing to be found except a bushel of vineapples and old crates, but a grumble from his empty stomach had him halting in his search to settle by the food. He didn't have an exact estimate on when the last time he had ate, but his stomach had already made up it's mind. Grasping one of the fruits in one hand, he bit into it, relishing the taste. To think something could still taste so good despite having no one to share it with. Only real bonus was that he didn't have to pay for it. Glancing among the shipments, his jaw dropped slightly as he hauled his Bullhead Shield from the mess. It had been so long since he last held it, it fit nicely in his hands as usual.

The Menders, often not sent to combat but experts at repair, had crafted so many shields like this one, he wondered how many had survived whatever happened. " Stay sharp, don't let your guard down." his disembodied friend warned as the security alarm went off, the cannon aimed at him. The security had mistaken him for a petty thief and was more than eager to dispatch the criminal, his shield raising to defend himself from the cannon fire. His shield was tempered through years of work, and the cannon blast harmlessly grazed the shield, destroying a crate to the left of him. Using the gap between the fire, he swung his hammer at it's stone head, taking it clean off and ending the security system, the stone pillar falling over and shaking the place, several crates falling around him.

"Special Delivery: Gasfellas." the voice said slowly, the Kid wondering faintly if the crest allowed his mysterious guide the ability to see what was around him, dismissing the idea when he could hear the scratching inside the crates as they burst open, young Gasfellas attacking him. It was a mess of blades and blunt weapons, the Kid ducking and dodging the pickaxes, having more than his fair share of close calls. One had nicked his shoulder, and while it was bleeding more than he would have liked, the wound was superficial and really didn't interfere with the battle. The stinging however, was a instant notification of how much worse it will hurt if one of those pickaxes actually connect. All the more reason to stay out of the way. Some of the flasks he carried were treated with herbs and remedies to help ease the pain of wounds and fatigue, but he didn't have an endless supply of them, nor did he have the time to apply treatments in the heat of battle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a larger Gasfella, one that had lived longer than the smaller ones he was currently up against, the creature smashing through more squirts that had tunneled through the floor. His eyebrows creased and lips turned down in annoyance, this was far too many events to happen in one day. Even when he had been on duty before, it wasn't this chaotic every few hours. By the time he managed to pound the last enemy into oblivion, he was convinced that the sun, if he could still see it , had to have set by now. It felt like an eternity, facing off with them. His bruises were really starting to sting now, so he took a moment to treat them, resting against the vineapple bushel while eating his fill, glancing up into the stony face of Rondy, the Bartender.

His nerves were on fire as he shot to his feet, mouth tangled as he tried to gather some form of an apology for wrecking the bar when he faltered. The bartender's eyes never left him... mainly because they were frozen solid. Rondy the Bartender... had turned to stone. The cracks running across the surface looked fragile, as if merely touching the man to confirm his transformation into a statue would destroy him, and the Kid decided to keep his curious hands to himself. Staring, his eyes couldn't believe the sight that lay before him, unable to accept that someone had turned to stone somehow. He was tempted to try and move the statue, but he pulled away, not wanting to do anymore damage. He then chose to follow Rondy's line of sight to the window, glancing below. Amidst the floating islands and destroyed paths, he could see a Skyway. When his ancestors had settled and formed the city of Caelondia, they had harnessed the wind in the form of Skyways to travel effortlessly long distances. With the Skyway, he could cut down his travel time to the Bastion in half... maybe even more.

Still... looking out the window confirmed his suspicions. It was...quite a bit of a drop. Returning to the bushel of vineapples, he packed a few for the road before leaning out the window and dropping down, bracing himself for the inevitable landing, counting on the toughness of his body to help him through. The second he could see proper ground, he collided with a crate, temporarily blacking out, the shattered crate revealing a hint of red and string beneath, an old legacy waiting to be revived.

_He gets a good look at things on his way down. He lands on top of a Breaker's Bow... and it ain't broke._

" Kid... wake up. Almost there." his friend chided gently, trying to wake him, the Kid groaning and getting to his feet, his bandaged hands brushing against the shards of the crate, clearing it away. He was surprised to find a Breaker's Bow, holding the delicate weapon in his hands, wondering if someone had been shipping it to the front lines. After all, he was in the Wharf District now, it was fairly common. Holding the weapon, he felt a sense of power emanating from it. The Breakers... once the fastest men in the land. Their footwork was matched only by the speed at which they could draw and release arrows into their enemies. Thankfully, there had been a quiver of arrows with it, so it was easy to add the bow to his ever growing arsenal. He replenished the water he had drank at the fountain nearby, spotting some of the security statues set up in front of him.

Time for some archery practice.

Drawing the bow, he fitted an arrow to it, taking careful aim and pulling the string back, his muscles tense from the action. A long time ago, someone had commented that the Breakers were rather weak when compared to the hammer swinging Masons... but that person had never tried using a bow before. The wood strained under his grip and his muscles strained in kind, the delicate balance pulling the arrow back to a tense position. Too little strength, the arrow wouldn't fly where he needed it to be, nor possess the power it needed to destroy the statue. Too much, and he risked breaking the bow as well as a lousy shot. When it reached it's climax, he released the arrow with a quick twitch of his fingers, the whistle of the arrow slicing through wind dulled only by the sound of the destruction of the statue. For a top notch security system, it sure was easy to break. The other two statues soon followed suit, the Kid feeling a sense of pride for being able to use the bow so well.

" Sounds like the security's still on... be careful, Kid." his friend told him, the Kid nodding before gathering up his things, including a memento from a Breaker that was laying nearby. It didn't look like there was much use for it yet, but he had a feeling it was better to take it than leave it. The security system was a general nuisance as he moved through the district, but since the enemies were stationary, it posed little threat to him.

Continuing up the path, he was surprised to find the Distillery and the Arsenal, the two buildings having always been on the rougher side of the district. Then again, with how damaged and twisted everything was, he was unable to recognize any distinctive landmarks. The chilled beverages were too good to pass up, and he helped himself to some Fetching Fizz before leaving, feeling pleasantly rejuvenated. The Arsenal helped him to get his things in order, like keeping the hammer and bow on his back and the repeater at his side, but he would have to figure out a better way of storing his things. If there were more weapons out there, he wouldn't be able to carry them all effectively, leaving the two buildings behind to continue on.

More squirts started to tunnel up around him, his hammer once again helping to remove the obstacles from his path. His confusion reached a new level when he found a set of old corn-bins, wondering how long they had been there and what that noise was, shocked to see baby squirts being spat out from random intervals from them. No matter how many tiny windbags he pummeled, the bins would spit out more until he got them acquainted with his hammer. After smashing both corn-bins, he stopped to take another break where the security system wouldn't get him, sighing as he looked to his right, spotting another stone person. That one was Maude... the tutor. She had always been on his case about learning proper mannerisms, to be a real gentleman. While he had learned his please and thank-yous, everything else just kind of went in one ear and out the other.

He was dignified, sure, but he often didn't see the point of " No, I insist, you first," while on duty.

Stepping away from her, he eyed an old ferry barge, one capable of riding even the weakest of winds to reach the destination. If it was still working, it could ferry him even closer to the Skyway he needed to reach. Stepping onto it, he started the switch, bracing himself as the ferry hummed to life, moving. " The Bastion's real close now." his friend said softly, his deep voice still calming to the Kid despite the occasional order mixed in. The security was still quite active, but his bow was more than capable of handling the problem, his shield also helped too. What proved to be a bit of a problem was the Gasfellas that kept dropping in on the barge, the ferry too small to maneuver effectively. He ended up taking more hits than he would have liked, grimacing in pain when the ferry finally stopped, taking the time to treat the wounds he had received.

Progressing to the large area before him, he inspected it carefully, searching for traps and valuables. The chunk of alloy in front of him looked valuable, so finders keepers. A few seconds after he had tucked the alloy into his pack, a foul stench assaulted his nose, the Kid trying in vain to cover up the smell with his scarlet bandana, two large forms slamming down around him, having been previously hidden somewhere. " Scumbags..." his friend said with a hint of disgust as if he could smell them too. Their large blue bodies held together with cheap stitching and sunken eyes glowing underneath the folds, the elderly windbags were the trash sweepers of the city, smelling like rotting food left out for years. Gagging, the Kid moved away from the large toxic waste dumps, the glowing sunken eyes following him wherever he moved. That alloy piece he picked up might have been food for them or something they forgot to clean up... though the giant Gasfella following them might just want his corpse.

Tearing the repeater from his hip, he started firing rapidly at the Gasfella, moving out of the way whenever he needed to. Save for Squirts, the Windbag family were primarily slow moving, so as long as one kept an eye on their surroundings, they could stay out of trouble. Reloading his weapon, he spun the chamber with a practiced hand, waiting for the click to return to firing at his target. Many an impatient fighter tried to fire their weapons prematurely and often suffered for it. His thoughts were jostled when some foul smelling sludge landed on him. The Scumbags were spitting up their contents at him, and said liquid burned at his skin, the Kid letting out a series of involuntary yelps as he tried to get the sludge off him, the handle of the Gasfella's pickaxe catching him in the stomach and sending him rolling. The dust thankfully cleared off the sludge, but the bruise on his stomach wouldn't be healed by another tumble through the dust, a groan escaping him as he got up. Some more corn-bins were spitting out squirts, a cheery family reunion that he wanted no part of commencing as he got to his feet, reaching for his bow.

Scumbags were huge, but they were just bags of trash, really. Drawing his bow and fitting an arrow, he drew back the string and let the arrow fly, straight into the first Scumbag's side. The hole that appeared on it's skin was leaking it's contents, already the beast was growing smaller from the lack of things inside it. Whatever a scumbag ate was either digested, or moved out of the city to be spat out. He proceeded to pop holes in both Scumbags, leaving them to ooze out while he hurried to his second problem, slinging the bow onto his back once more and grabbing his hammer, swinging it with the aid of gravity to smash through the window of the corn-bin, efficiently smashing it to pieces. The number of squirts appearing would stop once the bin was fully smashed, and the rest would be target practice for the repeater. Wiping out the rest of the squirts was an easy task, but the remaining Scumbags and Gasfella would take a little effort.

Grunting, he rolled forward again as the Gasfella swung at him, staring at the hole in the ground with fear, the pieces having fallen into oblivion when the Gasfella's attack cracked it. He didn't want to entertain the idea of what would have happened if he had stood there long enough. Using the repeater, he was able to tear even more holes in the Scumbags, watching with grim satisfaction as they slowly disappeared, leaving only smudge piles where they had once been. It took many hits to kill one, so defeating it was reason alone to celebrate, but there was one target left. Turning, he selected the best tool for the job, his ever reliable hammer, ducking and weaving around the Gasfella, watching out for the holes in the floor as he swung at it multiple times. At one point, he tried to lure it over one of the holes, then sat there and stared stupidly for a second before running away when the Gasfella floated over the hole with no problem. To be honest, he really should have seen that coming, Squirts float all the time, so why not their larger brothers?

After what seemed like an endless point of combat, not relenting nor yielding, just existing, the Gasfella toppled to the ground and slowly faded away, the Kid standing there breathing heavily. His stomach was hurting something terrible, his hammer sliding alongside him as he dragged it with little dignity over to a more solid patch of land, collapsing onto it. Laying on his back, he took in deep breaths of air, opening his eyes again to slowly sit up, grimacing as he did. Lifting his shirt, he winced at seeing the angry color of his darkened skin, drinking some water slowly before treating his wounds with one of his precious flasks. Hopefully, the Bastion would have a means to restore his supplies, and the feeling he now possessed told him that the place of refuge he had been seeking was very close by.

Once the pain in his abdomen started to ease up, he returned to the trail, stopping in front of a gate, gazing at the beautiful stone in front of him. It was spectacular to look at, the unearthly glow making him feel at ease despite being all alone and very lost. The crest on his back seemed to resonate with it as well, his head tilting slightly before he lifted the core, claiming it as his own since it seemed to be very important. Once he had it in his grasp, the Pyth gate in front of him opened, the area behind him crumbling to dust at an alarming rate.

" Get out of there, Kid... Core's in your hands, the District's gonna fall to pieces." his friend said in a warning tone, the Kid dashing forward, not needing to be told twice. The ground beneath his feet was fragile as he dashed along, moving as fast as he could with the core in tow, the security and Gasfellas moving to stop him. He had little time for them though, not wanting to join the many pieces falling behind him, so he dashed past them without trying to fight, only removing what he had to. Thankfully, some of the pieces were easily vaulted over, some had to be removed with force as he ran, searching for the Skyway. One Gasfella got a little too close for comfort, but the security was a sudden blessing, the cannon blast hitting the juvenile windbag instead of him. Getting out of harm's way, he slowed down once the Skyway was in sight, prepping himself. Since their discovery, Skyways were used as a very efficient form of travel, one must balance their body properly to ride in though.

Tucking the Core into his pack, he took a deep breath and stepped onto the Skyway, the sudden winds launching him into the sky, far away from the crumbling Wharf District. His bandana threatened to blow away in the wind, the Kid catching it with one hand, securely tying it once more before gliding with the wind, aiming for the large structure he had never seen before all this happened.

It had to be the Bastion.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to try a new writing style, so I wrote this one after finishing such a beautiful game. Seriously, give it a try.


End file.
